Deranged : Book One of the Perennial Expedients
by violentsaviors
Summary: Shadowhunters have lived in somewhat peace with the Downworlders for a few years now, but something cuts the rope of trust that hung in between them. A trio of unlikely teenagers from Chicago, Illinois, must work together to rid the world of this threat. Do they have what it takes to save the two sides from slitting each other's throats? Original characters.
1. One

Page | **3**

 **Introduction to**

 **The Mortal Instruments Fanfiction**

Hana's friend is immortal. Yes, you just read that sentence. Samrah Ashe has been living for 672 years, and she still looks 17 years old.

Let me tell you about the Shadow world. It includes divergent, very peculiar species. You might even recognize some as myths or from stories.

Shadowhunters are skilled fighters that eliminate and balance the world from demons. They are decorated with marks that give them special abilities such as silence, speed, and agility. They live and die like normal Mundanes (mortals), and love and hate like them, too.

Vampires are, well, vampires. They are part of a group called Downworlders, which is basically the species other than Mundanes and Shadowhunters. Vampires are immortal, but of course, they can die (but almost impossibly.) Mundanes or Shadowhunters can Turn into a vampire by going through a few stages. They get bitten by a vampire, have vampire blood in their system, and die. Once they die, they must be buried and watched. That is until the being crawls out of the grave. As they climb out, they must be fed human blood in order to complete the process. Night Children (vampires) are knowledgeable, fast, and very strong.

A tip to anyone involved with the Shadow World: Don't mess with them!

Werewolves are creatures that look like ordinary Mundanes. That is, until they change into their ginormous wolf form. They are also very fast and strong, and most of them are in packs. In order for one to be a pack leader, the current one must be killed by that specific werewolf. The steps are complicated. Shadowhunters or Mundanes can be Turned by being bitten by one (which works half the time), or borne from two werewolf parents.

Warlocks are powerful beings that can be sly and tricky. They are made from a demon and a Mundane from procreation. They have the ability to cast spells, heal, harm, or make pentagrams (will be explained later.) They are immortal as well and are indicated from other species from their mark. It could possibly be an abnormal color of hair or eyes, or even webbed feet or scaly skin.

Faeries can be the most pesky and candor Downworlders. Most are mean and tricky, but only a handful of them can be useful to mankind. They usually have floral ornaments braided in their colorful hair. They can bear children, and can also be borne from an Angel and a demon. They possess the beauty of an Angel, but also the personality of a demon. Faeries can come in all shapes and sizes. Here's a little secret: Ariel is actually a faerie.

Now that you have _that_ information, I'll get to the worst race. The demons. Demons are vigorous inter-dimensional monsters that kill, frighten, and kill. So far, they've butchered many Shadowhunters and even some Downworlders. They don't normally go for Mundanes, but that doesn't mean they won't. They are the reason Shadowhunters exist.


	2. Two

Page | **11**

 **Dodge-Demon Ball**

Students lined up against the opposing walls of the gymnasium, both having predator-like looks on the orange balls in the center. Hana scanned the other team, concluding on which throws would be easier to dodge or catch based on the player's expression.

The juniors had not played dodgeball in quite a while. The last time they did, a boy was diagnosed with a concussion because of a very strong throw thrown by an anonymous student.

The student shook her head to herself and stiffened as she heard the coach's obnoxious whistle. All of the players rushed to grab a ball from the middle, raised their dodgeballs, and threw it across the gymnasium. Orange flashed through Hana's vision as she dodged each throw skillfully.

"Come on! Just- stand- still!" Three from the other team yelled, frantically trying to hit her with a ball and make her get out of the game. The coach watched from the sidelines, satisfaction written on her face.

Hana grinned, and remembered when she had marked the speed rune on herself in the locker rooms before anyone had entered. It allowed her to have inhumane speed, and with the proper control, it looked believable enough. She finally picked up a ball, and for a few seconds she glanced around the room to see that most of the students had been hit, except for five on the other team and three beside her.

 _Are you ready?_

A whisper sent a chill down her spine, and when she turned to look at her teammates, none of them showed signs of speaking, which made her shiver again.

Just at that moment, Hana stiffened. She heard growls and roars from outside the gym, and stifled a yell as creatures stormed into the gym. Instinctively, she pulled out a seraph blade from the inside of her shirt, and saw two other boys do the same: one that had brown hair and eyes, and another that looked unfamiliar. Hana recognized Husni Morgenchild, an annoying boy from another class in their grade who lived a double life as a loyal Shadowhunter and high school jock, but her gaze rested on the other boy with confusion.

She tore her gaze away when she saw fur in the corner of her eye, and her eyes widened at it. It was Isra Rosewood, a good friend and classmate of hers. Hana could recognize her movements from a mile away. Claws extended from her fingers and her teeth were bared as she fought a few demons. It would not kill them to use her claws and teeth, but it would at least slow them down.

A few other students transformed as most of the others ran away screaming from who knew what they saw. Since the demons were part of the Shadow world, only creatures that were a part of it could see them. Most Mundanes do not have the Sight, so their vision replaces the demons with something normal, like a bear. If wild bears were considered normal.

Thankfully, the demons were not blocking the two blue doors that served as an exit, so the Mundanes ran through it and escaped safely. All Mundanes but Nushah Farzin had left, who was staring over Hana's shoulder in disbelief and terror.

 _It's her fault she's going to die,_ Hana thought.

Hana called her seraph blade "Ithuriel," and advanced on the demons. Hana did not have any time to mark herself with healing or strength runes. The other teenagers, now revealed as Downworlders and some Shadowhunters, attacked as well. Hana slashed her blade across a demon's neck, beheading it, and gagged when blood flew into her mouth while she was yelling for others to be cautious.

As a young Shadowhunter, she was taught to always be aware of her surroundings and know who was on whose side. She could see Maheen, sprinting from one demon to another as she dodged their attacks. She seemed to be assisting Husni, distracting the demons as he stabbed them from behind. With their speed, a Shadowhunter and a vampire, no being could escape.

As she continued slaying the beasts, she finally took the time to recognize them as ragener demons. Hana took notice to avoid their spit and body fluids because they could burn right through her skin. Noises, such as shrieks and yells, filled the air, but the Nephilim were used to it. They continued to fight with courage.

She let out a gasp of pan as she felt a claw drag across her arm, opening a long, bleeding gash.

"Hana!" a girl with short brown hair ran to her, her eyes wide with worry. "First I find out you're a Shadowhunter, then you get hurt five seconds later?"

Samrah Ashe looked quite tiresome. Hana knew of her being a warlock long ago; it was easy to point out because she had eyes of a snake under her brown contacts. She had green flare on her fingers, so it was clear she possibly helped a _little_.

"I'm fine; it's just a scratch," Hana said, but clearly it was not. Samrah shook her head, grabbed Hana's unscathed arm, and ran out of the gym.

The Shadowhunter sighed as the battle cries faded in her ears. Samrah looked in her friend's bag. "Where's your stele?" She asked, her brows scrunched together, taking all kinds of things out. Hana sat down and looked at the blue doors twenty, maybe thirty meters away. She decided not to run, as it would cause her acquaintance a heart attack.

"It's in my locker," she replied after a few minutes, ad watched as the warlock jumped to her locker, opened it, and pulled out a glassy, pen-looking object.

Hana took it from Samrah's hand and drew an _iratze_ on her arm, wincing slightly as she did so. She used to draw runes on herself as if she was using a marker, but every day, she became less used to the Shadowhunter object. The wound started closing up slowly, but the blood remained on her skin.

"Let's go back in," Hana said, stood up, then almost stumbled back. Samrah had her arm in her grip.

"You're not going anywhere. I'm guessing you haven't fought in a long time." Samrah started to walk back into the gym.

"If you go," Hana started stubbornly, "I go." She sent a glare her way.

Samrah sighed and turned. "Fine, then. I'll stay righ-"

Before she could continue, Hana ran past her towards the doors. There was no way the others were going to fight without her. But…

"They're all gone," Samrah breathed out in awe as she walked up next to Hana.

Even though she was annoyed, what Samrah said was true. All the teenagers were walking around and tending to each other's wounds, ignoring all the demon blood seeping into the ground. The Shadowhunter's shoulder slouched, disappointed that the fight was over. Something tugged at her memory.

Right before the fight, she had seen someone she had never seen before, and she knew almost everyone in the school. _Could he possibly be a new student? But he doesn't seem right. Maybe he was sick or something. No, that's stupid. Maybe he's-_

"Hana?" Samrah interrupted cautiously.

"What?" Hana snapped, losing her train of thoughts and coming out of her daze.

"Nothing, it just looked, er, kind of like you were asleep or something."

"Oh," said Hana, shrugging, "We should go and check on the others."

"Yeah."

As they were walking towards the others, she thought about how everyone easily took out all those demons. There were too many of them. But she also did not realize from before how many people in her own school were involved in the Shadow World. Maybe it was because she did not really care much about it anymore.

"What's up?" Isra asked, walking towards them. Hana, again, sighed as her thoughts were interrupted again. She noticed that the werewolf, in her human form, was limping after the battle.

"Nothing," Hana replied idly, not too eager to talk about what was bothering her.

"No, there _is_ something," Isra argued. "I can tell 'cause when you're thinking, your eyebrows get all scrunched together, and your face gets all stiff, and-"

"Please stop, Isra," Hana barked.

Isra frowned at her, obviously upset, but she knew better than to argue with Hana. "Okay, but something's up." She snapped her fingers sassily, turned around, and walked away.

Hana raised an eyebrow then shook it off. She looked around the gym. The boy, more clear at that moment, had brown hair with blonde streaks, and complex, sea-green eyes that could show sourness and warmth. It could show the softness like it did at that moment, engulfing her in a feeling of soft waves in the morning at the beach…

"Hana Starkwood?" said a lenient, honey-like voice. He then raised an eyebrow and grinned.

Hana, stiff and startled, nodded.

"Yeah- um, yes?' she stuttered.

He chuckled softly. "I'm sorry if I startled you, but I'm here on business from the London Institute."

Samrah looked at them both, shrugged, then mumbled, "I'll leave you two and your Shadowhunter business." She jogged away to help the Shadowhunter, Husni, with a burn on his chest.

"Who are you?" Hana asked him sharply. She talked like this with the Nephilim, as they did seem to spark annoyance in her.

"Change of attitude, I presume. My name is Maximus Nightwell; call me Max," he answered and held out a hand to shake. "Your friends truly fought well," he added. She hesitated before taking it.

Hana thought about how the demons seemed to just disappear, but she decided to think of it at a more appropriate time. She was not sure about how this Shadowhunter could trust her so easily. Didn't he know how others were told to treat her? After the cursed thing she had done? Did she even want to be involved with them anymore, after so many years of isolation and difficulty they inflicted on her?

Nushah was standing at a distance in the corner, staring with wide eyes at the Downworlders around her. Hopefully she would think it was all a dream. Or a nightmare.

Through the two blue doors rushed in a teenage boy who Hana recognized as Mason Greyfield, a werewolf closely associated with none other than Maheen Irefin.

"MAX, I GOT YOUR TEXT!" he yelled across the large room. All the people in the gymnasium turned their gazes to him and blinked.

"Gosh, Mason, you're so lame," Maheen said and rolled her eyes, grinning. Hana could've sworn she saw a light blush across her cheeks.

Maximus walked to Mason, shaking his head, and they stared at each other before bursting out in laughter. Maheen joined them, and the three started talking about how Mason was so late and missed the big fight.

Hana looked away, and tried to listen to other conversations in the gym. What was tugging at the back of her mind? She would find out later. At that moment, she felt wary, so she leaned on to the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on her backside with her knees pulled to her chest. Her chin rested on her knees, and she started to slip into a state of seclusion from the sounds all around her.


	3. Three

The vampire pulled his hood over his head, covering his face as he walked into an alley. The thoughts of his mission occupied his mind; the Shaman needed the place empty. _Should I scare them all with a demon show or turn the fire alarm on?_ he thought. Hamza heard loud music and laughter echoing through the walls into the alley.

"Too bad that laughter is soon to morph into screams of pain and terror," a deep voice said behind him. Hamza turned.

It was Frenrir, a werewolf that Hamza had to unfortunately work with. The Downworlder smiled an ugly smile, and had a look of superiority on his face. Hamza had never hated anything more than Frenrir Leidolf.

"What do you want, dog?" said Hamza through gritted teeth. "I don't have time to deal with things like you. We're not killing them; we're clearing the area. Go get those mundanes out of the club."

Frenrir's eyes narrowed at him. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Sure I can. I'm second-in-command to the Shaman." The Shaman was a powerful warlock who had healing plans for the world. "And his lieutenant. So clear the club out. He didn't send you out here for no reas-"

"The Shaman didn't send me," Frenrir interrupted, his eyes gleaming.

Hamza blinked, momentarily confused. "What?'

"He didn't send me." Frenrir repeated, now irritatingly boring into Hamza's eyes. There was a moment of long silence.

Hamza racked his brains, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He recalled how Frenrir had mutual feelings towards himself since the first time they had eye contact, and that he had a continuous obsession of obtaining more power. Then, the realization downed on Hamza that he took a double-take on it.

The vampire smiled. "You can't kill me, mutt," he said quietly.

"Oh, yes I can," Frenrir replied, one of his signature ugly grins plastered on his face.

"Don't even try; you'll regret it."

"Trust me, I have no qualms. Good thing there are no witnesses to watch you be torn apart." Frenrir clapped his hands twice. "Come on out boys, no need to hide anymore." Suddenly, two figures- no, two werewolves melted out of the shadows. _How did I not sense them?_ Hamza inquired himself.

He sighed. Even though he had not noticed their presence, he almost felt sympathy the idiots. He fiddled with the blade in his pocket, but decided to take one of his knifes instead. It would be good to use against werewolves because it was made of pure silver, something werewolves were vulnerable to.

The first one- apparently the most audacious one- charged at Hamza head on. There was not enough time to feel bad for the creature. In half a split second, Hamza whipped around the werewolf and plunged the silver knife deep inside its neck. The gigantic wolf went limp and fell to the ground.

The other immediately stroke and Hamza weaved around it like a cat, chuckling. This is seriously one of the most boring fights I have ever had, he thought. He then drove his elbow right at the spinal cord of the werewolf, cracking its neck as its face connected with the ground with a thump.

Hamza then turned around, smiling at Frenrir. "And then there was one."

Frenrir stared, his eyes wide in shock. It was clear that he thought Hamza was outnumbered. The vampire almost laughed at his expression. "I thought that- that would finish you," the werewolf stammered.

"Don't worry," Hamza reassured him with a smirk. "I'm still alive. And I'll make sure there are no witnesses watching while I tear you apart."

The lycanthrope's eyes widened even more, if that was possible. "You can't kill me; the Shaman _needs_ me." Frenrir's eyebrows scrunched together.

"Yeah, right," Hamza scoffed and threw a silver knife aimed at his heart. It plunged through his chest, and the impact was so great that Frenrir staggered back.

He gaped as blood seeped through his wound. He sagged then toggled down to the floor. Frenrir's green eyes turned glassy in less than a minute.

Hamza looked down at his own clothes. He was unscathed, and the only difference he had from before the fight was a few unnoticeable drops of scarlet liquid on his dark clothes. _Dang, I'm good,_ he thought. As if on cue, clapping was sounded from the shadows behind him. When he whipped around, he found himself face-to-face with a boy that looked about a year older than him.

He was taller, looked slicker, and had marks on the parts of his arms that were not covered by his plaid unbuttoned shirt. Hamza recognized them as a Shadowhunter's runes, and he instantly took a small step back.

"That was quite the show," said the Shadowhunter, his voice laced with an accent, but Hamza could tell that he was impressed.

Hamza raised his chin. "Trust me, Shadowhunter," he replied, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, "I've been in much worse."

"I can believe that," the boy consoled.

The vampire raised his eyebrows. "And why is that?" He asked.

"Because I've watched you kill many of my kin, Hamza Caine."

Hamza's lips parted in shock. "How do you know my name?" He demanded.

"At first, I didn't know for sure," the boy grinned widely, "but I know now."

Hamza stared then laughed out loud for about a solid minute. "You're smart, Shadowhunter," he said. "I'll give you that."

The Shadowhunter strangely didn't gloat or say, "I know," but his shoulders stiffened a little. Hamza looked behind him to see if he was maybe looking at something, but there was nothing frightening except for a murky alley, so he turned back to face the boy.

Hamza tried to make sense of this Shadowhunter; what was he thinking? No normal Nephilim would be having a casual conversation with a vampire. People say that the eyes are the windows to everything, but his eyes were like a metal safe, impossible to crack. "I still need to make sure you are _the_ Hamza."

"And why would you need reassurance of my identity?"

"Because he needs the truth."

Hamza's eyebrows scrunched together _. What in the world is this guy saying?_ "The what?" Hamza asked.

"Something Hamza Caine must know."

That did not really satisfy his confusion, but Hamza shrugged it off. He still had a scowl on his face.

"So," he began hesitantly, "How are you going to tell if I'm the real Hamza?"

The Shadowhunter pulled a long blade from its sheath and gripped it.

 _Oh, so that's how_.

He then spoke the angel name "Michael" and the blade glowed and hummed with energy as if they had come alive. Something damned, like a vampire, did not stand a chance against a holy blade.

Hamza smiled nonetheless as he took out his own ivory-colored blade. The Shadowhunter had no idea who he was dealing with. Of course, Hamza did not know who he was dealing with, either.

The boy smiled and ran two fingers along the blade slowly, creating suspense.

Then, he charged.

Hamza barely raised his blade in time. Their swords collided with a clang, both of them pushing with all their might to overcome the other.

It took a moment for the vampire to realize that neither of them was moving. He was pushing his hardest.

 _We're both equal_ , Hamza realized with shock. This was something he was definitely not used to. By the look of surprise on the other's face, this was something new to him, as well.

Sweat trickled down Hamza's temple. Then he got an idea. He twisted, causing the Shadowhunter to lean forward, and he kicked him hard in the chest. He flew backward, but astoundingly recovered in midair and landed neatly on his two feet. He grinned and showed no signs of pain or exhaustion at all. "That was thrilling," he admitted.

Hamza advanced again, serious and worried. This was not something to take lightly. The boy deflected each swift attack, while Hamza did the same thing in return. After a minute of just slashing at each other, the Shadowhunter grew annoyed. He stepped back as if to end the fight, but then in flashing speed feinted towards Hamza's legs, and quickly spun and slashed at Hamza's tricep, leaving Hamza shocked. It didn't hurt much, but the vampire didn't like the fact he even got touched. He knew that the holiness of the blade would spread through the wound and create some pain later. He was used to it; Hamza was often fighting with Shadowhunters.

"I thought you were done sparring." Hamza frowned. "You stepped back like you were done!" Feints always got on his nerves.

The Shadowhunter winced. "Sorry, I had to land at least one blow on you, even if it was a bit of a dirty play," the boy smiled apologetically. He was panting, and it was obvious he was taking slow, quiet breaths to hide it. Hamza did not need to pant. Or breathe.

Hamza was getting impatient. "Let's cut the crap," Hamza suggested sourly. "Tell me why you're really here."

"Alright. I know that I can trust you now. Only Hamza Arnold Caine can fight like that." The vampire shivered as he heard his real last name but stiffened, not allowing himself to show weakness.

Something strange then happened. In a blink of an eye, the Shadowhunter had a wrap bandage in his hand as he was reaching out to wrap it around Hamza's upper arm. The vampire jumped back, a look of bewilderment in his eyes. "It will only get worse. Just let me cover it, at least." The teenager actually looked like he felt bad for just a small graze, even though it did not hurt. Hamza could not escape his gaze full of apology. The vampire reluctantly let the Shadowhunter help.

As he tended to his wound, the Shadowhunter spoke to him.

"I've come here against the Clave's orders. To tell you the reality of this _Shaman_." Disgust was laced in his voice. Hamza opened his mouth to say something, but the boy ignored him. "The Clave thinks you are a threat, and I'm the only one who knows something that can counter that. I told myself to never tell anyone, that I'd find the person who deserved to know the truth, and now I finally found you. If you listen to me, then I hope you will change sides. Screw the Clave, I believe we need you."

"He told me everything about you Nephilim," Hamza answered coldly. "You charm others with your freaky manners, gain their trust, and then later on you turn around and stab them in the back. I know better than to believe you." He felt like walking away, but his curiosity was too great to just flee like that. He had a feeling he was not going to like what the Shadowhunter had to say.

"He lied," he simply replied. Suddenly, his expression brightened up. "How rude of me; I must introduce myself." He let go of Hamza's wrapped arm, to the vampire's gladness, and held out his hand, his sea-green eyes shining bright with hope and friendliness. Yuck. Hamza had to admit, though, he kind of liked the truthfulness that the boy showed to him. He did not even blame him, call him a monster, or order him to clean up the mess of bodies on the floor.

With a softer voice, he spoke to him, "My name is Maximus Nightwell, but please, do call me Max."


	4. Four

"MAHEEN! WHERE IN THE WORLD DID YOU PUT MY HEADPHONES?!" yelled Mason from across the hotel floor. A few grumbling complains followed. The hotel, you may ask? It was all thanks to the Nephilim and their fancy persuasion techniques.. or was it a rune? She didn't care; it was all too complicated for Maheen.

Apparently, Max had drawn one of those runes on himself and persuaded the lady at the front desk oh-so-sweetly to let them stay at the hotel for free. He also told her to not worry if random demons came storming through the front doors.

Anyone could say the whole conversation went smoothly. After all, Max _did_ have good looks on his side, which was a plus.

Now, back to the screaming maniac. He knew perfectly well he didn't have to yell at the top of his lungs for her to hear.

Maheen had immaculate hearing. After all, it did come in a package – agility, speed, cat-like reflexes, perfect vision, immortality.. She was _so_ grateful of this lovely blessing. Being a vampire. Lovely _._

She was broken out of her thoughts when the office room door opened. Max entered, and he looked a bit... exhausted.

Maheen immediately stood up, closing her book and laying it on the counter. "What in the-"

"Perhaps you should go visit Mason. He's pretty upset about his headphones," Max remarked in his regal-sounding British accent.

"Have I ever told you how much I envy your stupid accent? It's so Theo James-y."

"Theo James? Is that the useless British Mundane actor you always fantasize about?" He asked, trying to stifle a smile.

"I suppose," she replied in a terrible duplication of his speech. "But what happened to you? You seem a little off."

Max grinned lazily. "Let's just say I was caught us in a little jostle. No big deal. Something you would call 'Useless Shadowhunter Stuff.'" he stopped and looked at looked at her with narrowed eyes, "You seem a bit off yourself."

Maheen scoffed. "I'm fine. Just a little hungry." That was an understatement. She hadn't had a drop of blood in days. The vampire sighed and made her way out of the room, but not without grasping her book first. She twirled Mason's headphones in her hand, thinking about how brilliantly written The Book Thief was. She admired its cover as she walked.

"My Lord, by the time you get to him, he'll have grown a beard!" Max gave her a little push from behind.

Maheen turned and threatened, "One more word, Nightwell, and I'll beat the- oof!" Her back bumped into something firm. Maheen raised her gaze up, spotting a pair of familiar-looking, bright hazel eyes framed by a shade of fluffy, dark brown hair.

"Hey there, Midge," Mason said, a playful smirk plastered on his face.

 _Oh no, no, no NO._

"You did _not_." Maheen really hated that nickname; The two had been best friends as long as she could remember, but all she _did_ recall about their first time meeting was that he called her Midge the moment he saw her. Height did not come in the package.

Mason chuckled lightly.

Maheen pouted and smacked his chest, "It's not funny! Shut up!"

"Fine, not funny. Just entertaining."

"Don't make me —" She raised a fist.

Mason held his hands up. "Alright, alright. Jeez, Midge." Maheen scoffed once again at the nickname. "So do you have my headphones?" He whined.

Maheen narrowed her eyes. She held out her hand and in them were his white headphones. "Here are your stupid headphones. Happy?"

Mason took the headphones and draped them around his neck, eyebrows raised. "Aw, come on, you're not angry with me, are you?"

Maheen sighed. She could never get mad at him for too long. She patted him on the shoulder. "No, Mason. I wish I was." They stared at each other for a while, it could have been seconds and it could have been minutes, but it felt like a long time for her. Their trance was interrupted by a cough.

"Perhaps I should wander off somewhere else," said a voice that took too long to register.

The two took a step back from each other. Mason put his hands in his back pockets.

"Sorry, man. Forgot you were there. Since when did you become so quiet?" Mason asked, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Uh, let's see… since I was born, I suppose _._ " Max smiled knowingly, but Maheen could not possibly guess what he knew so much about. He always looked at them like that whenever Mason and her were talking.

Maheen's eyes darted towards Mason, and held back a laugh. He looked like he wanted to hurt Max badly, and it was a little funny.

Mason looked sideways at Maheen. "What are we going to do with him?"

Maheen shrugged, cracking a grin. "I don't know. He's _your_ best friend."

Mason ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up even more. "You guys want to hang out at the park tomorrow?"

The thought of three friends laughing and looking like fools in front of joggers at the city park was appealing to Maheen.

"Sorry, brother. I have to head back to the Institute soon. I'm not exactly here to visit you two, although that was convenient." Max and Mason had that little short hug that guys usually did, and the Shadowhunter took off, leaving the two friends alone in the hotel hallway. Before he escaped from hearing range, he shouted, "Don't forget to have something to eat, Maheen!'

Mason glanced at her, "Oh, yeah. When _was_ the last time you had a drink?" he asked, head cocked to the side. He was always like a big brother to her; Mason constantly had to have updates on any new friends, new books (he was the only one who listened to her about the books), and if she was hungry; She had a problem with blood. Like a newbie vampire, she hated the taste of animal blood. But she also couldn't stand the thought of hurting someone to drink from his or her blood. However, to keep herself active, she had to eat _something_ so she had a vial of the nasty stuff every couple of days.

But Maheen never got to answer Mason's previous question because the elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal a very recked-looking Isra. Her hair was not exactly cooperating with the rules of gravity as strands of it were standing up. It was visible that she had makeup on, well, a while ago, and her crooked smile indicated that she wasn't sober. Isra was lucky that she wasn't caught by the police in Chicago. They were ruthless here.

"Uh, hey, Iz." Maheen didn't exactly know what else to say as Isra strutted in. As she got closer, Maheen could point out some things in her hair: cake, mud, paint, and other unidentifiable substances.

"MOOHEEEENN! HOW YA DOIN'?" Isra yelled, stumbling over her words.

"Er, fine?" Maheen replied cautiously. Mason moved forward, looking at Isra as if she'd grown two heads.

"AW! YOU'RE NO FUN. I JUST CAME BACK FROM THE BEST PART-AY EVER!"

"Isra, you're drunk. Go to your room." Mason said, as if he were her parent.

The girl whined, "But why?" Maheen had to stifle the urge to burst out laughing and even Mason showed signs of amusement.

Maheen pointed to Isra's room. ''Go."

Isra grunted. "Jesus. What crawled up _your_ pants?"

Mason started to chuckle, but he stopped immediately when Maheen glared back at him. After she made sure he was not going to laugh, she turned back to Isra.

"Okay. Isra, it's eleven P.M. Everyone's probably sleeping. You need to quiet down a bit."

And at that moment, Isra did the unthinkable.

She screamed. At the top of her lungs.

The two standing there plugged their ears for the few horrible seconds. The laughing after it was just as nauseating. Every occupied room's door opened in the hallway. All of them were the Downworlders and Shadowhunters that had fought in the battle in the gym. No Mundane was sleeping on that floor, thanks to Maximus.

Many came rushing out: werewolves' nails already growing into claws, vampires' teeth baring, and Shadowhunters' daggers rising.

"WHO DIED?" Someone yelled.

"What happened?" Ahmad calmly asked.

"DEMONS?" Husni's gaze flickered around, looking in every corner for the creatures.

They finally stared at the three for an explanation.

Maheen and Mason shrugged. "Isra was drunk," Maheen said sheepishly.

"Oh, I see."

"Understandable."

"No demons?"

Maheen sighed and shook her head, "No, Husni, there are no demons."

After a few more mumbles, they returned to their rooms and closed their doors.

Mason turned around and glared at Isra, who was on the floor. Her laughter strangely resembled that weasel Maheen had passed by a couple of days ago.

Mason glanced at Maheen, eyes widening. "Count on Isra to scare the crap out of everybody," he said, amused.

She nodded, sighing. "You bet. Now we just have to get her to her room." Maheen bit her lip, looking down at the hot-mess beneath her. Taking a deep breath, she bent down, grabbed Isra's arms, and heaved her up.

The girl collapsed on her and it was only her vampire strength that kept Maheen upright. "Okay, Isra. I'm sure you can walk to your room, right?"

The werewolf mumbled something against her chest.

"What?"

Muttering something undecipherable, Isra's head shot up and replied a little too loudly, "I said I can go by myself, Mahoonio."

Mason snorted. "Mahoonio?"

Maheen shut her eyes tight and fought back the urge to scream bloody-murder at Isra just as she had done a little while ago. Her head was throbbing and she felt unusually dizzy. She loved Isra but the drunk version of her could go to hell for all she cared.

The intoxicated werewolf threw her hair back, stuck her tongue out at the pair of them, and wobbled away in silver heels towards her hotel room. When she was safely inside, Maheen turned away and started walking to her own suite.

Mason could sense that she was in no mood to talk so he strolled beside her in comfortable silence. That was something she loved about her best friend: he would easily notice that she was sulking and then be only one to able to cheer her up again.

"Why so down, Midge?"

Maheen shrugged, "I feel nauseous."

He stopped and faced her, worried. "Is it because you didn't get any blood? Should I go get some? I'm sure another vampire will let me borrow a bit…"

Maheen laughed quietly at his concern, "No, no it's fine Mason. I'm sure I have some in my room."

He relaxed somewhat and smiled, but it didn't quite reach his hazel eyes. Maheen found herself gazing at the reflection of her in his pupils. She had dark-circles, and her pupils were eerily dilated from sickness.

She lifted her head up and said quietly, "I don't look too well."

Mason frowned, "No. You don't. Go drink some blood when you get inside and if you can't find any, just holler. "

Maheen smiled, said good-bye to him, and turned around to enter her room. Just as she was getting out her key card to open the lock, Maheen felt her knees going weak. Her usually sharp and focused eyes slowly turned hazy and the world became a blur. She shut her eyes and braced herself on the threshold of the room, leaning her throbbing head against the door. A hand took hold of her arm, supporting her.

Disoriented voices clouded up her brain and someone, somewhere was shouting. More voices, more shouts. She only had one thought as she was losing conscience:

 _This is_ so _cliché._

But no matter how lame this seemed to nonchalant self, there was no denying the stubborn darkness that creeped up and took hold. And just when it felt like it would finally go away after an instance of calm... it pulled through once more.

And she drowned in the murky blackness with a disappointed sigh.


End file.
